Zelos snorts at his driver, raising an eyebrow at her while grinning. "Of course I have a point! Doesn't matter if it's controlled by a blade or not, ether is still dangerous to humans." He leans forward a little, mocking. "You ever hear about ether poisoning? It's not a fun condition, you know!"
He's about to say more, really, but then Lloyd claims his attention again, all excitement and loudness as he fidgets about staring at Zelos' sword, and Zelos' mouth shuts closed as he turns his head to look him up and down before breaking into a confident smirk. Lloyd's words of praise and compliments are mostly focusing on the whys and hows of the blade's function, but they still cascade over Zelos anyway, filling him up with pride at finally being recognized as the trophy that he is.
It's addictive, in a strange way. The urgent need to be wanted and needed that he'd shoved deep to the back of his conscious shifts into his frontal awareness after finally being fed after so, so long, and now he kind of wants to see if he can get any more of this praise just to satisfy an age-long need. The sword is a part of him, he tells himself, so it's only natural to claim whatever anyone says about the sword as his, too. That's all it is, that's his excuse.
That's all it is.
With another laugh Zelos lowers the sword from its current perch on his shoulder, eyes closed as his free hand reaches up to flip his hair back. "Well, it's about time someone with good taste showed up around here," he mutters, shifting his weight from one foot to another, opening his eyes and regarding Lloyd with a self-satisfied expression. His blade is in passive state, closed, so he guesses it won't be dangerous if he hands it over again, so Zelos shifts his grip on it to offer the handle back to Lloyd casually, nonchalantly, completing the look with a careless shrug. "Knock yourself out."
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He's about to say more, really, but then Lloyd claims his attention again, all excitement and loudness as he fidgets about staring at Zelos' sword, and Zelos' mouth shuts closed as he turns his head to look him up and down before breaking into a confident smirk. Lloyd's words of praise and compliments are mostly focusing on the whys and hows of the blade's function, but they still cascade over Zelos anyway, filling him up with pride at finally being recognized as the trophy that he is.
It's addictive, in a strange way. The urgent need to be wanted and needed that he'd shoved deep to the back of his conscious shifts into his frontal awareness after finally being fed after so, so long, and now he kind of wants to see if he can get any more of this praise just to satisfy an age-long need. The sword is a part of him, he tells himself, so it's only natural to claim whatever anyone says about the sword as his, too. That's all it is, that's his excuse.
That's all it is.
With another laugh Zelos lowers the sword from its current perch on his shoulder, eyes closed as his free hand reaches up to flip his hair back. "Well, it's about time someone with good taste showed up around here," he mutters, shifting his weight from one foot to another, opening his eyes and regarding Lloyd with a self-satisfied expression. His blade is in passive state, closed, so he guesses it won't be dangerous if he hands it over again, so Zelos shifts his grip on it to offer the handle back to Lloyd casually, nonchalantly, completing the look with a careless shrug. "Knock yourself out."